The Tempest
by beautiful-cas
Summary: A rewrite of William Shakespeare's The Tempest: replacing each of Shakespeare's characters with one from BBC Sherlock. The scientist, Sherlock, the crime-thwarting pride of London, and his comrades have been stranded for years on an island after Sherlock's jealous brother Mycroft deposed him and had him sent adrift.
1. Chapter 1

"Um, is that you making those waves out there? Could you…could you maybe…err… stop? Um, because I think people are getting hurt."

Molly Hooper stood on an earthen ridge looking out upon the now riotous bay that framed the desolate island that she knew as her home. The great scientist, Sherlock, stood before her at the rocky edge of the ridge, arms outstretched as if orchestrating the tumultuous chaos of sea that rose and threw itself at the boat of patrol caught in the bay. Sherlock turned slowly towards Molly. His formidable glance instantly startled her and she became ashamed and anxious.

"Don't worry, Molly. " He ordered her. "You have a tender heart, but I've hurt no one."

Molly bounced from her toes to her heels and swung her arms in an awkward manner. Sherlock turned once again to the speck of a ship jumping wildly between the colossal waves towards the rocky shore, barely visible from their position.

"Oh, that's good. I'd have hated to see anyone hurt."

Sherlock no longer interested in the slowing movements of the wrecking boat, placed a tattered pair of binoculars within his coat and spun swiftly away from the cliff, beginning down the slope towards their island cell.

"Molly, your compassion for others astounds me, but the lack of such compassion towards yourself leaves me perplexed." Sherlock addressed her as she fell into step beside him. "For the years that we have been on this island, you have not once inquired as to the reason why. That's a terribly ignorant way to live don't you think?"

Molly gazed about the blankness of the island around her. "I never thought to ask you… thought you mightn't want me to."

Sherlock considered her with bemusement. "Now that seems silly; to constantly go about your business on a god-forsaken island without even knowing why you can't rest your head on a feather pillow each night! Molly, I think it's time you knew."

"You did try to tell me…a few times," she replied timidly, "then you stopped. You said, 'No, what's the point?' That you'd tell me later."

Sherlock screwed up his face, remembering. "Did I? Well, later is now- now is later! I'm going to tell you, Molly, why it is that we must exist upon this dreadful lump of crumbling rock. Do you remember how well we were doing? Crime rates at an all-time low, the Yard the most admirable company in England…"

"I do. But now we're here." She gestured at the dry brush that surrounded them.

Sherlock kicked angrily at a nearby rock. "And now we're _here!"_ He spat.

"It must have been something really bad, for it all to go wrong…when…when it was going so right."

They were approaching the rocky cell; Molly sat on a boulder by an overhanging ledge. The ill-fated boat lay entangled in the forest of jagged sea stones across the bay.

"Bad? Oh yes, it was a bad deed alright. "Sherlock paced before her as she stared sorrowfully at the wreck.

"My _brother, _if even a true brother that could be so conniving- Mycroft- who I did regard affectionately, despite our trivialities and differences of character: I made the sorry mistake of passing my knowledge of the criminal schemes and occurrences of the state to, so that I could focus more on perfecting my scientific method of deduction… he- are you even listening to me?"

Molly's head snapped back to Sherlock and away from the distant ruin with impressive swiftness. "Oh yes…I am. Sorry, continue."

"Humph." Sherlock regained his stance of storyteller and began to explain his circumstance to Molly. "Mycroft was surprised and exceedingly excited by the information I gave him and a childish possession took over him. His position of power was increased tenfold by what I could provide to him. I believe he was jealous and angry that I could hold but never share with him such treasure. "

Sherlock grew quite angry and had to pause a moment before continuing.

"In my absence, the police and government departments grew restless. From that point on, it was easy for Mycroft to persuade them that I was a liability; my selfishness outshined my sense of duty. The gullible fools forsook me, forgetting entirely my talents and astounding application of criminal science, mind you! He turned the whole city against me. I tried to continue on with back-alley cases, you know, for I brought you along for assistance. You know the rest."

"Yes, we-"

"Mycroft took over liaison duties at Scotland Yard," Sherlock butted in; discontent with Molly finishing his story, "and retained his position at the secret right hand of the Crown. Mad with power he now despised me and my conspirers and the city was no longer safe for us. Poor kind Inspector Lestrade made arrangements for us to leave the country until stability was recuperated in the British government…but-"

"But the sailboat that was provided to us collided with the rocky output that surrounds the island on which we reside." Molly finished quickly, growing tired of Sherlock's dramatic recounting.

Sherlock glared at her angrily, which made Molly instantly full of regret and shame once again. It was strange how easy he could do that.

"Yes, alright." He snapped, moving through the door and into the sleeping cell, with Molly close behind. "You know that much, but you have no idea about the present occurrence that you witnessed off shore just now. And so I will tell you."

Molly slid down onto the makeshift bed in the centre of the dank room and resigned herself to Sherlock's impending story. While she settled herself on top of the ragged blankets, Sherlock slipped from his shelf to his pocket a small vial of clear liquid. To distract Molly, in case she had seen his movement, he gestured to the contents of his shelves.

"Lestrade had, most helpfully, recovered some of my most prized possessions from Baker Street before our unfortunate departure. " He ran a long finger across the spine of a dozen heavily bound books and encyclopaedias. "He brought as much as he could of its contents; clothes, books, food- of course. But most importantly the base instruments needed for me to complete my studies and experiments."

He sighed deeply, gazing at the contents of the murky cell.

Molly also glanced around, with mild disdain and longing for her own bed and own apartment.

"Yes Sherlock, but I'm still confused." She told him. "What caused those giant waves this morning? Whose boat was that, and shouldn't we go and help them?"

Sherlock surreptitiously moved the vial from his pocket to the cuff of his sleeve and moved towards Molly.

"Ah yes, by happy accident the English tides have brought those who defied me right to our doorstep and my genius has brought them crashing to our shore." He sat down beside her. "An opportunity most grand, don't you think? It would be a waste to let this precious moment pass…Molly, you are falling asleep!"

Molly sat upright and looked at Sherlock. "No, I'm not…Sherlock, I'm awake. I'm listening."

"No, you're not. You're positively yawning!" He swept the unstoppered vial swiftly under her nose and replaced it in his pocket. "Perhaps, you should take a nap?"

Molly wrinkled her nose as the aroma hit her, and her eyes began to droop. "Sherlock, I don't want to nap. I….."

Sherlock grasped her arms and aided her as she fell lightly onto the rough bedding and slept.

"Perfect." Sherlock stated, standing up and looking around. "Now, to find John.

JOHN!"

**Character Index- **_**Shakespeare to Moffat**_

**Prospero-** _Sherlock Holmes_

The main character and overthrown pride of London City. He now lives on an island and has become a great inventor and scientist.

**Miranda- **_Molly Hooper_

Friend and assistant to Sherlock, who lives with him in his island cell.


	2. Chapter 2

"John! John! John! John! JOHN! JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!"

John Watson hobbled up the last hill with heavy breaths and immense pain.

"What? What, Sherlock? What?" He huffed angrily, coming up beside the scientist. "What the bloody hell do you want? What could you _possibly _want that could impel you to burst the ear drums of every living thing on this ruddy island? …

Where is Molly?"

Sherlock turned up the collar of his long coat, against the absent wind. "Asleep."

John stared into Sherlock's face with amassed suspicion, his breathing growing slower as they paused.

"Why did it take you so long to answer my summons?"

John puffed up angrily, "I was on the other side of the bloody island, where you bloody told me to be!"

"Did you do what I asked you to?"

John stared at Sherlock with angered disbelief. He took a slight step back and stared again, as if determining whether the man was indeed present and existing in front of him. "You know I bloody did what you asked, you saw the bloody thing, it was higher than the eye of London. You're lucky it didn't wash us all away!"

"My invention was impeccable." Sherlock stated. "There is no way the waves it created-"

"I know, I know. You're a great genius, and King of this island, I don't doubt." John sat with a thump onto a fallen log and looked up at Sherlock. "I did it how you asked. I went to the cave near the beach where we were stranded. I took the sticks from beneath the boulder, like you asked. And I used all my energy pumping the ruddy thing until waves the size of building smashed a navy boat to pieces. Like. You. Asked."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "I saw some jump. Did you see who remained on board?"

John sighed and addressed Sherlock, "I didn't see anyone; I was too busy pumping your bloody death machine!"

"Well, luckily I did." Sherlock pulled his binoculars out of his pocket and turned them in his long fingers. "It was her. She was the first to leap."

"_The Woman_?"

"Indeed." Sherlock paused, remembering. He took a sharp breath and returned to John. "I believe she would have washed ashore close by here."

"Hoorah." John said, without enthusiasm. "As I was pumping, I heard a group of men escaping the wreck. Well, I heard a group of voices shout, "Bloody Hell!" and then splash."

Sherlock nodded again and began pacing. "Good work, John. You've done good work. Yes…this is good. In small groups they will be easier to manipulate…I'm glad you separated Irene. She might be of great use on her own…"

John stood up with great effort and leant on his stick cane. "I separated?" He repeated. "No, no. I had- and will have- no part in this…manipulation, of yours! I did what you asked, wrecked that bloody ship- now will you stop messing around and let me move into that bloody cell!"

"Dear me," Sherlock said, "someone's in a bad mood today. Once again, it was your idea to live separately once we discovered that we were stranded. As I recall, you thought you would be "better at surviving". I beg to differ, wouldn't you agree?"

John drove his makeshift cane hard into the sandy ground. "This is nonsense! We were mad, and thrown around by the sea, Sherlock. And you know full well my cave crumbled on the seventh day! Stop pretending to be some magnificent dictator! We're away from civilization, but that does not mean that we cannot act like civilzed human beings!"

Sherlock was growing exasperated with John's constant moaning.

"I have told you, John." He said slowly. "I am willing to maybe let you live alongside us, if you perform as I ask you- and help me as you always have."

He walked away from the entrance to the cell and towards the bay, John followed him testily.

"I do everything you say- though I don't know why!" He said, angrily. "I'm not your slave, Sherlock! People don't have slaves- it's not right. This island has twisted your morals."

Sherlock stalked ahead, suddenly livid.

"You think I'm immoral?" He turned on John. "Do you not remember the unscrupulous mastermind Moriarty, John? Do you now think of him greater than you think of me? My morals are twisted? No, your thoughts are twisted, Doctor Watson. After all that happened, orchestrated by Moriarty, the trauma he brought upon you and Mrs Hudson… that which I helped abate? Perhaps you forget- perhaps I should remind you each day the measures I had to take to protect you from that evil-"

"I remember, Sherlock, for god's sake!" John replied, grabbing Sherlock's arm to settle him. "But Mrs Hudson- Molly as well- I have not seen them since we parted! You say they are with you but I don't believe it. Or else how come I have never met with them? Each time you call me to do some silly task for you?"

Sherlock, now calm, continued down the steep slope to the salt and sand of the beach.

"Now that, I agree is a strange coincidence indeed." He told John. "As it happens, you seem to have a funny knack for coming and talking to me, at the precise moment after our friends have walked elsewhere. Thinking abstractly, it might even seem as if you were visible only to me."

John regarded Sherlock suspiciously, as he found often found himself doing. They had reached the beach; the foamy lips that caressed the stony ground beneath their feet were the same lips that had spat them unceremoniously to the desolation of Sherlock's island many years ago. A little way offshore the sound of constant beating drifted through the air to meet them, as the chaotic snowflake of a boat was thrust over again into the face of the isle's cliff.

Sherlock was inspecting the sand with mild, scientific curiosity. John stood awkwardly before the sea. He wanted to ask something of Sherlock, but wasn't sure if he would indulge his questions- or whether he really wanted to know the answers.

"Um..." He made a start.

Sherlock turned his ear towards John, but continued to peer at shards of broken seashells and marine skeletons.

"Mrs Hudson… is she…well, is she well?" John continued nervously.

"Hm, yes. Well? Yes, she is well. Why do you ask?" Sherlock spoke quickly and without thought, his senses focused entirely on his scientific efforts.

John thought about switching the subject, but was afraid of the fact that he had not seen nor heard mentioned of their beloved landlord since the incident that has stranded them all.

"It's just that, well," John wrung his hands together anxiously, "After all that happened…you know, with Moriarty and everything…she was in quite a bad way. I was just wondering how she was getting on-"

Sherlock had stood upright and was staring ahead, unseeing and clearly uncomfortable.

"Um," John continued quickly, attempting to calm the impending storm, "um, because well, this island drove you and I to insanity after a few days- you, the most, um, able minded person in all of England…perhaps. Sherlock…is she well?"

Sherlock sighed deeply and swayed uneasily, it was clear he was uncomfortable with talk of Mrs Hudson. John wondered why.

"John." Sherlock said slowly. "We're…friends aren't we?"

John thought he might be about to find out.

"What?" John shook his head once, confused. "I suppose so, Sher- I mean, we were. I don't- did something happen?" John grew suddenly very serious. "Sherlock, did something happen to Mrs Hudson?"

"Something?" Sherlock said softly, twisting his pale fingers through loose threads in his coat. "Define: something."

"Sherlock." John's jaw was tight.

Sherlock sighed again. "Ugh, John. She hated it! She hated the island…it was messy. Disorderly. She couldn't clean it! She was disgusted in me. "How could I have let this happen?" I was so smart- how come I "couldn't get us out of this horrid mess"?"

He kicked at a white-washed cuttlefish that lay near his foot. It bounced a few times then came to rest at the wet line drawn in the sand by the groping tide. He stared at it unhappily.

"She wishes Moriarty were still alive." John began to voice his amazement and indignation, but Sherlock hushed him. "Simply so that he could have prevented the villainous treachery that led us here. She hates me, John."

He kicked again at the sand. The wind threw the particles back in his face and he choked and spat them out angrily.

John was dismayed, he felt sorry for Sherlock. He felt strange for feeling sorry for Sherlock.

"Where is she?" He asked, softly.

"Right now? I've no idea." Sherlock replied. "Somewhere on the island. She does me service, in return for food. Though she despises me for it. I find it a funny parallel to home at Baker Street. Now she is the one grumbling about the provisions."

He gave a short laugh, but looked about to cry.

"I take care of her still, John." Sherlock looked sorrowfully towards him. "Are you happy with me?"

John felt it an impossible time to argue with Sherlock. He sighed and resigned to the intolerable man before him.

"Ok, Sherlock. What do you need me to do?"

Sherlock's face threw its troubles into the sea and instead adopted a look of business.

"I need you to find a hiding place beside the East shore, opposite to where the men jumped." He told John, sternly. "Not just hidden, I need you invisible. Come and see me when you've found one."

John looked over Sherlock with mixed feelings of exasperation, annoyance and tired affection.

"Well, go!"

John stomped off.

**Character Index- **_**Shakespeare to Moffat**_

**Prospero-** _Sherlock Holmes_

The main character and overthrown pride of London City. He now lives on an island and has become a great inventor and scientist.

**Miranda- **_Molly Hooper_

Friend and assistant to Sherlock, lives with Sherlock in their island cell.

**Ariel- **_John Watson_

A colleague/servant who does Sherlock's bidding and only appears when Sherlock is alone. Sherlock has preyed on the emotional damage inflicted on John by the deceased villain Moriarty, and his own superior status on the island to use him as a servant. Sherlock promises that he will let John live in their cell if he completes all of Sherlock's requests to a fine standard.

**Caliban- **_Mrs Hudson_

An unwilling inhabitant of the island who is disgusted by the messiness and disorder of the island. Shaken by the past events and wishing that Moriarty were alive so that he could have prevented the incline of villainy that sent them to the island. Used as a sort of slave by Sherlock, who she now despises. (The island has sent her mad and she prefers Moriarty and has lost all loyalty towards Sherlock)

**Sycorax-**_Moriarty_

A deceased criminal mastermind, who caused deep emotional trauma for both John Watson and Mrs Hudson, twisting their perception of Sherlock. Never seen in the story, only referred to by characters.


End file.
